


300 Credits

by CastellanGarak



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: M/M, Sexual Coercion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-13 19:09:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15371373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CastellanGarak/pseuds/CastellanGarak
Summary: Terok Nor Era: Garak can't pay rent. Dukat has an offer.





	300 Credits

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mountainashtree](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mountainashtree/gifts).



Garak locks up his shop for the day, goes home with the intent of taking a hot shower. He does not normally splurge on the expense of using actual water showers, but he’d had a bad day, and wants comfort. He types in his access code, waits for the door to slide open, and goes inside. Letting his bag thump to the floor, he toes off his shoes, and sighs. He looks up, and lets out a shocked breath.

“Dukat,” he spits. The prefect is sitting on his couch, reading his one of his books, and Garak is suddenly furious. “What the _fuck_ are you doing in my quarters?”

Dukat looks up, dog-ears the book to mark his place. Garak twitches at the blatant disregard for his property. That’s an antique! “You haven’t paid rent on your shop,” Dukat says, putting the book down on the coffee table.

“Yes I have,” Garak protests. He does very meticulous bookkeeping.

“You paid the portion owed before I raised rates. But now you owe me an additional 300 credits.”

Garak’s knees nearly buckle. “I can’t afford that,” he gasps out. “You _know_ that.” He can barely afford to keep himself fed. He hasn’t had a decent meal in years, all he can afford is the shit nobody else on the station wants.

“Now that _is_ a quandary,” Dukat purrs, running his finger along the spine of Garak’s book.

“What are you going to do to me if I can’t pay,” Garak asks, fearfully.

“Oh, I’m sure it won’t come to that,” Dukat says with mock reassurance.

Garak takes a deep breath, then lets it out. “What, exactly, are you suggesting, Dukat? Do you expect me to take a second job? I suppose I have no choice. What position will you assign me?”

Dukat’s lip curls up in a cold smirk. “Interesting choice of words. Get on the bed.

Garak lets out an incredulous bark of laughter. “You must be out of your mind.”

Dukat shrugs lazily. “The couch works just as well. I’m not picky.”

“It’s not a question of _location_!” Garak says hysterically.  

“Well you have to make _some_ decision. If you lose your shop, you can’t pay rent. And you know the consequences of reneging on your rent.”

Garak shudders. He doesn’t want to get kicked off the station, he has nowhere else to go. But he also doesn’t want to get raped by Skrain Dukat.

“I think I’ll take my chances,” he says, lowly.

Dukat stands up, saunters over. “I won’t allow it,” he says. “Tain told me to keep you  _safe_.” He leans over and places his hand proprietarily on Garak’s neck, finger idly stroking a cool scale. Garak shudders in disgust, jerks back from the touch. He runs up against the door, and panics. Dukat follows, crowding him against it. Garak shrinks back, flinching as Dukat leans down.

Dukat places a hand on either side of Garak’s head, then leans down to kiss him. Garak bites him, hard. Dukat pulls back, snarling. He raises a hand to backhand Garak, his elaborate ring digging cruelly into Garak and splitting his lip. Garak whimpers. He considers fighting back, but Dukat has the entire station security under his command, it would be futile. He brings a hand up to wipe the blood away, but Dukat catches it before he can, and leans down to suck the blood off his lip instead. He digs his tongue into the cut, and Garak whimpers again.

He eventually pulls back, and looks down at Garak. “Well. Bed or couch?”

Garak glares up at him, and says, grudgingly, “Bed.”

“Excellent,” Dukat says, smiling. There’s a smear of Garak’s blood across one sharp incisor, and Garak shudders. Dukat uses the grip he still has on Garak’s hand to tug him over to the bed, which he then pushes Garak down onto. Dukat climbs up after him, settles himself over Garak, and leans down to kiss him. This time, Garak lets him. Dukat slides his tongue into Garak’s mouth, which Garak allows, but he makes no move to kiss Dukat back.

Dukat sighs, pulls back. “You’re going to have to actually participate, you know. I’m not paying 300 credits for you to just lie there. I have perfectly good sex toys, you know, if I wanted to just fuck a receptive hole, I’d have done that.” Dukat gives him a look, then leans down to kiss him again.

This time, Garak responds, injecting false passion into the act. He knows this game, and Dukat is by no means the worst John Garak has had. At least he’s clean, put together, and attractive, as little as Garak wants to admit it.

Dukat moans at the fervent kisses, gripping Garak’s hair fiercely, keeping him close. Garak, wanting to get it over with, runs his hand down Dukat’s body, slips it into his pants, and rubs at his slit. Dukat’s breath hitches, he grinds down against Garak’s hand. Garak skillfully strokes Dukat, coaxing his cock out inch by inch, then removes his hand, and pushes at Dukat’s chest.

“What?” Dukat asks, breaking the kiss and pulling back.

“Allow me to suck you,” Garak says, formally.

Dukat quirks a browridge, but takes his pants off, and leans against the headboard. Garak settles himself comfortably, then leans down to take Dukat’s cock into his mouth, sucking with all the expertise his past trade granted him. He pulls out all the stops, wanting to get this over with, and Dukat comes surprisingly quickly. Garak feels, annoyingly, flattered. He pulls back, wipes his mouth, and says, “Will that do?”Dukat takes a moment to recover, then laughs. “As if. You are to satisfy me completely.”

Garak’s fist clenches, breath speeding up, but he forcibly gets control of himself. “As you wish. What would you like next?” he asks.

“Strip,” Dukat orders, “I’d like to fuck you.”

Garak obeys, efficiently, lying back.

Dukat’s eyes trail hungrily down his body, landing on his groin. “Now _that_ won’t do,” he drawls, upon seeing Garak’s un-everted state. He positions himself at the foot of the bed, hitches Garak’s leg up, and puts his mouth on his closed slit.

Garak gasps in surprise. “What are you doing?” he demands. “I don’t believe you’ve paid 300 credits to suck me.”

Rather than answering, Dukat slips his tongue inside. Garak’s breath stutters, he feels an unexpected pulse of arousal. There was something rather intoxicating about having the cocky, swaggering prefect submitting to him. Garak moans, as he starts to evert into Dukat’s patient mouth. Dukat sucks until he is completely everted, then pulls back. “ _No_ ,” Garak protests. “ _Please_.”  

Dukat chuckles, wipes his mouth. “You’re right, I’m not paying to pleasure you. I just wanted to get you ready. I’d rather not have had to force you open.”

Garak sighs. He’d forgotten, for a moment, that this was a transaction. He mentally scolds himself. And then Dukat is pushing into him, and Garak’s mouth drops open. Dukat is, annoyingly, rather well endowed. Garak has not been fucked for a very long time, and is nervous he won’t stretch wide enough. But Dukat is slow, and patient, and painlessly gets him open, bottoming out with a sigh.

Garak sighs in relief, and then gasps when Dukat pulls back and starts to thrust. Dukat hits his sweet spot on the first try, and then _keeps_ hitting it, and Garak lets out a heartfelt groan, and clutches at him. “ _Dukat_ ,” he moans.  

“Skrain,” Dukat corrects.

“ _Skrain_ ,” Garak says. He wraps a leg around Dukat’s waist, an arm around his neck, and pulls him down into a kiss, passion, this time, not faked.

~~~~

Garak lays panting on the bed, watching Dukat get dressed. Dukat finishes, stands up, brushes off his clothes, then looks down at Garak. “Same time next week?” he asks.

“Next week?” Garak asks. “Rent isn’t due again until next _month_.”

Dukat lets out a laugh, genuinely amused. “Oh, did you think one evening was worth the full 300 credits? Not likely. See you next week,” he coos, leaning down to pat Garak’s cheek condescendingly.

Garak has to forcibly restrain himself from attacking Dukat. Seventy-five credits?? That’s all he was worth?? That’s _insultingly_ low. Three _hundred_ credits was insultingly low, but he was willing to accept it. But this is just _outrageous_.

“ _Fuck_ you, Dukat!” he spits.

Dukat raises a browridge. “Perhaps next time,” he says, and leaves.  


End file.
